I lever back up and put my tip at her entrance. “I’m so fucking hard, Charlotte. I hope you’re ready.”
“Fuck me.”
Her words both shock and arouse me. I hold her hips and thrust in until I’m seated deep inside her. Our moans echo through the living room. Hell, they could be echoing through the building. I don’t care. All that matters is how fucking awesome it feels to be inside this woman.
Her pussy pulses and massages my dick, and I’m delirious with the need to come. I withdraw and thrust in, and already I’m nearing the edge. I do it again. This time, I’m teetering.
“God…I’m going to come,” she gasps out.
“Good…because I can’t wait any longer.” I plunge in hard, my balls slapping against her as I fill her and my dick explodes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I chant as I soar into a mind-blowing orgasm. I pump and I pump, wondering if I’ll ever stop and at the same time hoping it will never end.
Finally, I’m totally and completely spent. It takes me several minutes to catch my breath.
When I can finally move again, I maneuver us so that I’m laying on my back and she is on top of me on the narrow couch. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a woman laying on me after having sex, but there is something strangely intimate beyond the fact that we’re both naked and just had sex. It’s unsettling how much I want to open myself to this intimacy, but I’m smart enough to know that I can’t. Having sex doesn’t change the fact that Charlotte and I made an agreement that this relationship would always be platonic. Yes, we’ve indulged in benefits, but I’m not sure that those benefits will extend beyond the moment we just had. Then there’s the fact that there’s a time bomb hanging over me, that despite all my efforts to avoid it, will likely blow my world apart. I don’t want her to be involved in that.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
I'm jerked out of my thoughts, and focus my gaze on her and smile. “I’m in an orgasmic haze.”
She smiles and it’s so stunningly beautiful it makes my heart swell. Once again I’m unable to help myself as I thread my fingers around her neck and pull her down for a kiss.
When we break apart, she stares at me with her brow slightly furrowed. “What was that for?”
I feel like maybe I’ve tipped my hand, and it’s unsettling. I try to be nonchalant. “Do I need a reason beyond I simply felt like it?”
She’s smiling at me in amusement as she shakes her head. “No.” She pauses for a moment and then she dips her head to kiss me.
Well, all right, I think.
When I get up from the couch to dispose of the condom, I worry that the moment is over. I go to my room and throw on a pair of lounge pants, wondering what I’ll find when I return to the living room. Charlotte has a robe on and she’s sitting on the couch holding a glass of wine, and there’s another full glass on the coffee table. I see this as a good sign.
I go to sit next to her, picking up the wine.
She glances at me and rolls her eyes. “You really should put on a shirt, Oliver. How can I watch the movie with all that muscle distracting me?”
No one has ever said that I didn’t have a healthy ego, but in this moment, her words stroke it in a way that makes me think I desperately needed them.
“Sorry.” I put my wine down, hurry back to my bedroom and grab a t-shirt, then rush back out to sit with her on the couch again. We drink our wine and watchMiracle on 34th Street, the old one with Natalie Wood.
At the end, Charlotte rests her head on my shoulder and lets out a long sigh. “My grandmother used to always cry at this part when Susan finds Santa’s cane in the corner,” she says.
I’ll admit, it's a nice part of the movie, although my favorite bit is the part when the post office delivers all the letters to Santa to the court to prove that Kris Kringle is Santa.
But I understand that her comment is less about the movie and more about missing her family. I turn my head and kiss the top of hers, wondering if again I’m being too familiar, too intimate. “Your grandmother sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She was.”
I knew that Charlotte was alone on Thanksgiving because she didn’t have any family, but it’s not until this moment that I’ve recognized she’s alone every day, not just on Thanksgiving. My heart goes out to her because while my parents aren’t people to write home about, I do have Theo and now Madeline in my life. I want to say something to her about her never being alone, except I can’t make those kinds of promises to her.
My brain scrambles for something to say, but she rises from the couch, picking up our empty wine glasses before I can organize my words.
“It was a lovely Thanksgiving, Oliver. Thank you very much.”
My stomach drops because it sounds like she’s ending the night.
I stand up, moving in front of her and placing my palms on her cheeks, turning her head to look up at me. “Let me stay with you tonight. Even if it's just one night, let me stay with you.”
She doesn't say yes, but neither does she say no. I take the glasses from her hand and set them back on the coffee table.
I take both her hands in mine, wrapping them up and holding them against my chest. “Just one night,” I say again.
She nods and takes my hand, guiding me to her room.